It was past midnight and a rule was in force: whoever shuffled had to say "once upon a time" before every card they played. The Storyteller had delivered it in a whisper, like a lullaby, and the table found that it did not want to fight it.
Once upon a time, a seven of clubs. Once upon a time, a jack. By the tenth card the shuffler had begun adding sentences without noticing: a seven who lived in a lighthouse, a jack with an unfortunate childhood. The others stopped playing to listen. Somebody asked what happened to the lighthouse.
Nobody had noticed that the person on the end was now asleep, and nobody wanted to be the one to say so.
"The end," said the Storyteller gently, and the game, which had not moved in ten minutes, carried on.